


Fine Print

by Problem_Seeker



Series: Book's Adventures in Elsewhere [2]
Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Agender Character, Gen, it became a multi-chapter story because I am incapable of short pieces, romance if you squint a little, sexist language followed by swift retribution, the students have no idea what to make of their professor, to be honest neither do the gentry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Problem_Seeker/pseuds/Problem_Seeker
Summary: When Marbles first signed up for the Introduction to Creative Writing Course, they thought the class would be a trainwreck and the semester uneventful.Someone should have read the fine print...





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few ideas bouncing around for oneshot adventures in Elsewhere University. This turned into a threeshot-and-epilogue because I am too wordy to leave well enough alone.
> 
> Tangentially related to events in _Book and the Wyrm_ , but it's not strictly necessary to have read it to understand what's happening here.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

### 

Fine Print

**Part One**

I didn't actually mean to sign up for Intro to Creative Writing. I mean, I don't _dislike_ writing; I'm just not any good at it. And I was an Art Major anyway, so a writing class wasn't actually going to help me graduate. What I _tried_ to sign up for was Advanced Pottery, but I must have ticked the wrong box on the registration form when I signed up for classes. By the time I got confirmation of my schedule and noticed my mistake, the Pottery class had a waistlist a mile long and I had no time to find a backup. Without a full load, I wasn't going to have enough credits to keep my financial aid. So really, I didn't have any choice but to go to the writing class.

Would I have gone, if I'd known what would happen to me and the others? Or would I have done the smart thing and run away screaming?

When I complained about the mix-up, my roommate Rosie was unsympathetic. "How hard can it be?" she asked. "Everyone knows that the Creative Writing Department hasn't challenged anyone in decades. Not since that one professor...retired. Since then everyone's just sort of coasting. You only have to put up with it one semester."

"I just hate wasting my time with classes that won't help me," I told her. "Besides, it's a brand new teacher. You know it's going to be more of a shitshow than usual."

Rosie shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. You can't take a different class in the Fine Arts Department?"

"Nope. All the beginners classes are full and I can't get into the advanced courses without the prereqs. And I can't repeat stuff I've already taken. Pottery was the only thing I could qualify for this semester."

Rosie shrugged again. "Then it looks like you're taking writing."

"Ugh." Seeing that my frustrated noise hadn't miraculously made Rosie sympathetic to my predicament, I got up from my chair to make dinner. "I swear, this class better be an easy grade or I'm going to lose my mind."

"At least then your name would suit you." Rosie ignored my glare and blew me a kiss as she headed for the door. "Off to European History! See you later!"

"Salt packet!" I shouted.

She held one up without a backwards glance; Rosie was always prepared.

There'd come a time I'd be very, very glad of that.

***

Unlike Rosie, I was the picture of a forgetful artist type. After dinner I'd settled down in bed to watch TV, forgot to set my alarm for the morning, and slept later than I should have. If Rosie hadn't banged on my door to check if I was still around (she heard the TV in my room) I probably would have slept right through my day. I barely had enough time to grab a bagel and a bottle of juice before I ran out the door to the stupid writing class I didn't even want.

Intro to Creative Writing was scheduled to take place in the New English Building. It had a real name — pretty sure it was named after someone I hadn't heard of — but everyone I knew called it the New Building. This was because there was still an Old English Building on campus. An old, decrepit wreck of an English building. Said to house a dragon that guarded Gentry gold. The whole story had to be bullshit, though; no one had ever seen the Wyrm, and considering that there was plenty of evidence of the Gentry if you just used your eyes, the utter lack of dragon evidence was pretty suspicious. It was way more likely that the building was just falling apart and the dragon story was a convenient way to make sure the bulk of students stayed out of it.

Anyway, I didn't have to worry about that building, since I was headed to the New Building.

I made it into the classroom exactly on time, which was a miracle considering how late I'd left and how far my dorm was from the building. There were maybe twenty students there already — mostly girls, as was typical in the English Department — but a few guys were seated here and there. At least, people who looked like guys and girls. For all I knew they were like me and weren't either. Or maybe some of them were both. Or...

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I missed the snickering at first. When I heard it, I remembered that I was standing in the middle of a classroom and probably looked like a deer in the headlights. The source of laughter was a group of about four guys near the back. The biggest of them had his mouth turned up in an unpleasant smile and seemed to be prepped to say something.

"Yo!" A black girl with short, curly hair waved at me from across the room. "I saved you a seat!"

It took me a minute to figure out that she was talking to me, and that I didn't know her. Still, her attention had made the big guy shut his mouth and scowl, so I figured that was better than nothing. I smiled as if recognizing her and walked over. When I was close enough, she pulled her backpack off the tabletop and patted the seat next to her in an exaggerated fashion. That, combined with the huge grin she flashed me, was so over-the-top that I had to laugh and sit down.

She thrust out her hand for a shake. I checked for iron on it before I was comfortable taking it. "Name's Garnet," she said. "Sci-fi. What's your genre?"

"Marbles," I replied. "Not even remotely a writer."

"Everyone's a writer if they mash enough keys," she said with a laugh. "New to the Department? Thought so. You looked pretty lost, and Joker over there likes to open his mouth and let shit fall out of it."

"Joker?" I asked, glancing back at the big guy.

"Saw Suicide Squad and thought Jared Leto was the best part. That should tell you everything you need to know about him."

"Noted." My eyes kept sliding around the room. "Not a lot of people here. Everyone must be running late."

"Nah," Garnet said. "Creative Writing is a pretty small group usually. This is actually _bigger_ than normal. Everyone heard about the new teacher and flocked."

"Why?"

Garnet grinned. "If you were an English Major, you wouldn't have to ask," she said. "Half of them are here because they think it'll be an easy A. The rest of us are here because we're hoping we'll actually get a decent writing teacher. Pickings are sort of slim in this Department."

"Yeah?" I asked. "How come?"

Garnet drummed her iron ring on the tabletop, suddenly serious. "Because the best ones get Taken."

"Ah." I touched the iron nail I kept in the pocket of my jeans. "In the Art Department, they come back."

"Lucky for you guys, then." She shook herself a little and her smile return. "Anyway, enough doom and gloom. Lemme introduce you to the gang."

She reached over and smacked the arm of the person next to her; his attention was so buried in his phone that he didn't even flinch. "Hey!" Garnet snapped at him. "What were you, raised in a barn?"

The boy looked up. He had carroty red hair and a face awash with freckles. "Maybe I was," he said. "In which case, it would be very rude of you to bring it up. I might be sensitive about it." He kept a serious expression until Garnet rolled her eyes, after which he winked at me and smiled. "Name's Jagger. Poet."

"And that," Garnet said, gesturing to person on the other side of Jagger, "is Chickpea. Historical fiction. Useless before three in the afternoon."

Chickpea had a hoodie up and her face buried in her arms, so I couldn't see any of her features. Soft snores came deep within the folds of fabric; it was the only way I knew she was a person and not a mannequin. How late did this girl stay up that she could sleep until three? I had trouble staying asleep past nine a.m.

Jagger checked the time on his phone. "New prof's nearly ten minutes late," he commented to Garnet. "Think she got stolen away already?"

"If so, that means she's a good one and I'll be pissed." Garnet bit her bottom lip and furrowed her brow. "Rule is fifteen minutes late and class is canceled."

"We've got five, then." Jagger stowed his phone in his bag and turned back to me. "So, what brings you to our humble major? Paint fumes getting to be too much for you?"

"Not exactly—" I began, but was cut off by the opening of the classroom door.

The woman who entered was young, still in her early thirties, and dressed smartly in a pair of slacks and a nice top. Despite her youth, her hair was a shade of silver that looked both too bright to be natural and too good to be fake. Each step she took was full of confidence and purpose, and she strode to the front of the classroom without hesitation. In her arms she carried a box from the campus print shop, and a leather messenger bag hung from one shoulder. These she set down on the desk as she cast a quick look around the room. When she was satisfied, she dipped a hand into her bag and retrieved a dry erase marker. In slightly-messy handwriting, she wrote, "Professor Book" on the whiteboard, then capped the pen. 

"Good afternoon," she said, turning to face us. "The line at the print shop ran long today, but be aware that in the future we'll be starting class promptly at two. At this point you need to turn off your cell phones and close your laptops. Will someone wake up anyone still napping? Great. Now, we'll be going over the syllabus and class expectations today and you'll have the chance to ask relevant questions. If there's time, we'll do a writing assessment, but that will probably have to wait until next class. Right. Let's get started. I'm passing around an attendance sheet. Find your ID number, put your chosen name next to it, write your email, and let me know your pronouns so I don't mess up."

I couldn't help but stare at her. For a new teacher, she was surprisingly adept at walking into a classroom like she owned it. Most professors I'd seen were overly concerned with being likable or being seen as an authority. This woman just _was_ and didn't give a crap about endearing herself to us. Plus, it was always nice when a teacher asked about our pronouns; it saved me from having to correct them later.

 _Where did they find this woman?_ I wondered.

"The first page of the syllabus details the required information for the course," Professor Book said, as she handed out her papers. "Class number, how many units it's worth, etcetera, etcetera. Also listed is my policy on plagiarism and a notice that I'll be complying with all guidelines set out by the Department of Disabled Services, including reasonable expectation of accommodation of physical and learning disabilities. You'll also see my office location and hours, and the email by which you can contact me. In all, pretty standard info. If you're wondering about my specific credentials, there's info up on the school website about me."

She brushed her hair away from her face and looked around. "With me so far?" she asked.

We all murmured in agreement. "God, I hate first days," Garnet muttered under her breath. "They're so boring."

The Professor kept going, undeterred by the general disinterest. "The last couple pages of the syllabus have the class schedule. Take a look at it on your own time, and be advised that if I need to make changes to it, I will be informing you via email or in a revised syllabus that I will present to you in-person. Do not trust notes on the classroom door, or rumors from other students, or papers that I don't hand you myself. This is as much for your own protection as it is for clarity's sake."

I exchanged looks with Garnet, who wore a puzzled expression on her face. Chickpea, woken by Garnet when Professor Book started speaking, was watching our instructor with narrowed eyes and something akin to a snarl. Jagger, meanwhile, couldn't decide whether he wanted to look at Chickpea or our instructor. I wondered if the rumors of redheads having The Sight were true and, if so, what exactly he saw when he looked at them.

"Now, I'd like to direct your attention to the second-to-last page of our syllabus." Professor Book held up her own copy as an example. "You'll notice it says 'Academic Contract.'"

A few students shifted in their seats and there was a low grumble that went around the room. "The hell?" Jagger whispered to the group. "What does she mean 'contract'?"

Professor Book smiled as if the discomfort in the room didn't bother her. "As this course is split equally between lectures and writing, we are going to have to make each hour we have together count," she said. "It is important, therefore, that you attend every class without fail. This contract — if you choose to sign it — states that you give your word to show up prepared to every meeting, and bring writing to me when it is required of you. And that failure to appear in class entitles me to determine the cause of your absence and to take the appropriate steps to bring you back."

"You seriously want us to sign a contract?" Chickpea's voice was openly hostile. "What, we're not to be trusted?"

Professor Book remained calm even as the rest of the class tensed. "It has nothing to do with a lack of trust," she said. "I was hired by the University to help dedicated students improve their writing. This contract is merely a formality that lets me know you're taking the course seriously. What I am asking everyone to do is make a commitment to their writing. I myself will be signing a contract promising to show up every meeting prepared to teach, and to be invested in your educations and well-being. Anyone who is uncomfortable with the idea of signing the contract is free to drop the class. But students wishing to remain enrolled in this course will be required to sign."

Chickpea stood up abruptly, slamming her palms on the table. "This is a trick!" Her voice was a guttural noise a human throat shouldn't have been able to make. "A ploy to hold us in thrall!"

Jagger jerked back as Chickpea's nails bore into the wood of the table. I could see now that her fingers had an extra joint and were too long for her hands. Her hood, too, had fallen backwards and I could see her too-bony face and pointed teeth. Even her skin flickered back and forth between pink and a sickly-looking olive green. The Changeling — because now there was no doubt that she was one — was experiencing total Glamour failure.

The other students made a wide circle away from not-Chickpea, but Professor Book held her ground. "I have no interest in ploys, or thralls, or students who don't wish to learn," she said evenly. "If the contract is offensive to you, you can leave my classroom. No one is forcing you to stay."

There was a long beat of time where the air felt full of electricity. Not-Chickpea stared Professor Book down, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. Our instructor held not-Chickpea's gaze, but I did see her slip a few iron rings onto the fingers of her right hand. I wondered what the Professor would do, if not-Chickpea did something rash like charge her.

It seemed like the entire class was holding its breath.

Finally, not-Chickpea relaxed her hands and she slowly began to resemble something more human again. Still, she didn't stop looking at the professor with naked hatred. "I don't need this," she said, grabbing her backpack. "I'm out."

The slam of the door behind her made everyone but Professor Book flinch. "Well, that was eventful," she said with a wry smile. "In any case, look over the contracts tonight. If you are comfortable with the terms, bring them signed to the next class meeting. If not, go ahead and drop the course and know I won't judge you for it. Should you feel the need to have someone look over the contract for you, I recommend taking it to the pre-law students or the psych majors, as they will have the best grasp of fairness and the psychological implications of the agreement."

Her smile became warm and personable. "This first meeting was a little more intense than expected. Why don't we call this a day? Unless anyone has any questions first."

Shakily, Jagger raised his hand. "Professor, who _are_ you?" he asked.

She laughed. "Just an Elsewhere alumna, really. No one special. Check the school website if you want specifics. Are there any other questions? Perhaps relevant to the course?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. "In that case," Professor Book said, "class dismissed."

***

I think we were all a little stunned when we left the classroom. I stuck close to Garnet and Jagger because I didn't want to risk being alone with an angry Changeling in the vicinity. Worse still, Joker and his buddies were following close behind, doing the sort of slow, menacing walk that serial killers do when they stalk their victims. His presence made me edgy, and I tried to find that sweet spot between walking and running that wouldn't trigger his bully senses.

"I can't believe that wasn't Chickpea." Garnet chewed her bottom lip anxiously. "I wonder if her RA knows yet? I should tell him. Maybe he can get her before it's too late."

"You can't blame yourself," Jagger said. "She looked like Chickpea until she freaked out on the Professor."

"Yeah, but _I_ should know better."

"Have you known her long?" I asked, hoping to keep myself in the conversation and less of a target for Joker.

Garnet blinked; she must have forgotten I was there, or expected me to have taken off. "A couple of years," she said. "We met our first semester. She lived in the dorm room next to me and we had a lot of the same classes. Just one of those friendships that clicked, you know? God, how did I miss seeing that she'd been replaced?"

"It'll be okay," Jagger said. "Now that we know, we can tell the Knights. They'll bring her back."

"Still. I had to rely on Professor Book's weird contract requirement to notice anything was off."

I had to admit I never saw a Changeling lose it in a classroom before, and certainly not because of anything a teacher did, and I said as much to the others. "You think the Professor is Gentry?" I asked them. "The Changelings aren't really scared of anyone else."

Jagger shook his head. "She's definitely human. She was wearing iron, not fakes. No one with Gentry blood in them can do that. Her hair's weirding me out, though. It doesn't look like something you'd encounter outside of Else."

Joker chose that moment to push his way into the conversation. "Wonder how far down the grey goes?" His voice was loud and deep and sent me instinctively into warning mode, a feeling only exacerbated when he elbowed me conspiratorially in the side. "Her eyebrows match, so you think it means the carpet does, too? What do you think, bro, think she's got a grey pu—"

"You're disgusting," Garnet interrupted. "Get the hell away from us."

Joker practically leered at her. "What's the matter, honey? Upset I'm not wondering about your hair color? Want me to talk about your—"

A hand clapped onto his shoulder, making him yelp in alarm. His buddies looked frozen in shock. The hand belonged to a handsome man with dark hair and startlingly bright grey eyes. He was dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and pressed slacks, with a coat thrown over his free arm. Everything he wore was fitted and looked new. I'd never seen someone in real life look so put-together; he should have been on a movie set with a horde of stylists following him.

Joker's fear had quickly given way to anger. "What the hell, man?" he demanded.

The handsome man gave Joker's shoulder a squeeze, making the bully grimace in pain and shut his mouth. "While I'm sure your witty banter impressed many a troglodyte back home," the man said pleasantly, "I'm afraid it won't garner you many friends here. Were I in your position, _Joker,_ I'd be extremely careful about the comments I made. Particularly in regards to the staff of Elsewhere University."

"Who the hell are you?" Joker tried — unsuccessfully — to pull free. "Let me go!"

The man's hand didn't release and his mouth turned up in a predatory kind of grin. "I just want to make sure you understand what I'm telling you," he said. "Administration takes harassment very seriously. Make another comment like that and I'll make sure you'll find yourself in a disciplinary hearing so fast your head might just dislodge itself from your ass. Do we understand each other?"

Seething with impotent rage, Joker had no choice but to nod.

The man's hand let up. "Wonderful," he said. "Good talk."

He nodded politely at the rest of us. "Have a lovely day," he said cheerfully. We watched him until he disappeared through the door into Professor Book's classroom, not quite feeling at ease until he was out of sight.

Joker's hand rubbed his shoulder. "Asshole," he muttered. "Bet he's screwing her. Otherwise why would he give a shit?"

Without another comment to us, Joker wandered off. His lackeys finally woke up from whatever stupor they'd been in and rushed after him. If they spoke to each other, it was too far away to make anything out. Can't say I was sorry to see him gone.

Simultaneously, Garnet, Jagger, and I looked to the classroom door. "Who was that?" I asked.

"No idea," Jagger said, keeping his eyes glued to the door. "I don't know _what_ he is, either. He looks human, but he feels way more dangerous than that."

"He said 'Administration'," Garnet said. "Which Administration do you think he meant?"

No one answered. I don't think any of us really needed to.

"So," I said cautiously, after some time had passed, "are you guys gonna sign her contract?"

Jagger's lips were drawn in a tight line. "Dunno," he said. "Might get another pair of eyes on it first. Seems more serious than maybe I want."

"I probably will," Garnet said. "I need the class, and she said she's signing a contract, too. What do you think, Marbles? Wanna throw in with the crazy English Department?"

I looked at Professor's Book's door again. It looked ordinary, no glowing lights, no strange sounds. I didn't really want to take the class, and the professor and the handsome man who scared Joker felt a little dangerous. But this was also a woman who had stared down an angry Changeling without blinking; even the most hardened professors usually gave anything Gentry a wide berth. And I was pretty curious about her.

"Yeah," I said finally. "I think I will. I sort of want to see what happens next."

***

In the end, fourteen of us signed Professor Book's contract.

Chickpea had been returned by the next class — a stunning rescue having been undertaken by the Knights and her RA — and thought the contract sounded reasonable. Jagger and Garnet had ultimately decided to sign as well. Two random students opted out. One said something vague about a "previous engagement" and the other said that Professor Book freaked him out. Joker and his buddies seemed to have decided against it, too, since none of them showed up for the second class; the Professor had pursed her lips at their empty seats, but otherwise said nothing about it.

Those of us that remained, however, turned in our contracts to Professor Book and witnessed her sign her own. She had smiled and locked all the contracts in an iron box, then got on with the business of teaching.

I had expected the class to be boring and tedious, but Professor Book was actually an engaging teacher. She talked about the purpose of storytelling and mankind's quest to pass on knowledge in relatable ways. About how certain kinds of stories — the creation myths, trips to the underworld, daring rescues, and romances — popped up across every culture. That anything in the world could tell a story as long as we used a little imagination.

Her requirements for stories were also less stressful than expected. "Everyone has a story they want to tell," she said to us on our fifth meeting. "It might be about falling in love with your significant other, or how your dad taught you to hunt wild pigs in Hawaii, or a family legend that just won't go away. We even tell stories about how our days go, right? Don't think of these exercises as trying to write the Great American Novel. Think of them as finding something interesting to talk about."

And that's how our classes went. One meeting would be a lecture, the next would be writing practice. Professor Book was less concerned about grammar and spelling than she was about the way the stories went together. "Think about every story that's ever made you bored," she said. "Think about why. Then think about what you wanted from it instead."

I was actually enjoying myself in the class, which was something I hadn't expected at all. From time-to-time we'd see the handsome man poke his head into the classroom — always briefly, and always silently — before he wandered out again. Whatever he was there for, he never talked about it in front of students. But he always left with a smile on his face. In all, the semester was going well.

And then the Harvest Festival happened.


	2. Part Two

### 

Fine Print

**Part Two**

Afterwards, it was painfully obvious that the Harvest Festival wasn't the fun-filled event we were promised.

At the time, though? It just seemed like another Elsewhere University tradition. Other students I talked to mentioned having seen it advertised in years past, but no one had actually gone to it. The way they described it, the Harvest Festival was one last hurrah before the stress of Finals Week and the end of the Fall Semester. "It's an alternative to Thanksgiving," they said. "For the people who can't — or don't want to — go home."

It offered food and dancing and live entertainment. No booze, but school-sponsored events never offered alcohol anyway. It was just a low-key party.

God, we were so dense.

We might have avoided the whole situation altogether if Chickpea hadn't gone home to visit family for Thanksgiving. She was local and could easily make it home for the five-day break, and her early abduction at the hands of the Gentry had made her miss home desperately. So she left us to our mistakes, taking her observation skills and cautiousness with her.

As for why the rest of us were staying, we all had our reasons. Jagger admitted he was avoiding an uncle who mocked him for his interest in poetry. Garnet had just started dating a girl in her dance class and wanted to spend more time with her. And I knew that any trip home meant enduring being called by the wrong name, the wrong gender, and fielding multiple hurried apologies by my family; I wanted to build up a tolerance to it before Christmas.

So while the bulk of the student body left campus, Jagger, Garnet, Garnet's girlfriend Angela, and I spent the first day of Thanksgiving Break hanging out in the Commons. None of us had access to a car, so going to town was out of the question. Besides, everything was bound to be shut for a national holiday anyway. Jagger tried to get us to agree to a Loser Thanksgiving Meal in our dorms, but given that none of us could cook anything all that complex with just the stuff in our cupboards, he was fighting a losing battle. Even so, the argument lasted over an hour.

Angela eventually got bored by all the debate and wandered over to one of the Harvest Festival posters. She gestured at it vaguely. "Are we at the point where we'll consider this?" she asked. "Could be fun."

Jagger scowled. "No way," he said. "We don't need a school event. We can do our own thing."

Garnet rolled her eyes at him. "Like what?" she asked. "You hiding a Thanksgiving dinner in your fridge?"

I didn't want to take sides against Jagger, but I was definitely bored already and just wanted to make a decision. "I gotta say, Angela might be right," I said. "It _could_ be fun, and we _don't_ have anything better in mind."

The look on Jagger's face could best be described as "not remotely interested." He sighed before saying, "Look, it just feels like a bad idea. Can't we do something else instead?"

This had the potential to set off another round of arguments; Angela managed to cut it off at the knees. "Why don't we go and check it out?" she suggested. "If it looks sketchy, _then_ we can go find something else to do."

Even with Angela's intervention, it took almost ten minutes to get Jagger to agree. And even when he did agree, he wasn't happy about it. But without a better suggestion on the table, it looked the Harvest Festival was going to be our best chance at assuaging the boredom of a holiday break. So we double-checked the posters for details and headed out together.

We wandered in the direction of the East Quad — the given location for the festival — and followed signs that helpfully pointed the way. Angela was practically buzzing with excitement, bouncing along the path and chattering about how much she was looking forward to a school-sponsored party. Garnet smiled indulgently and laughed at every skip and jump Angela made; it was clear that she'd fallen hard for her.

The up of Garnet's mood was only made more apparent by Jagger's tense expression. He kept touching the iron bracelet around his wrist and looking backwards as if he wanted to go back the way we came. I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but his nervousness was infectious. I started fiddling with the iron nails I kept in my pocket and wondered if the little whisper of doubt in my brain was possibly overreacting. After all, Garnet and Angela didn't seem to be feeling anything, so why were only Jagger and I scared?

Despite our nervousness, we continued moving forward, and if Jagger and I drifted a little closer to each other and brushed hands, who could blame us?

The East Quad was all but unrecognizable when we arrived. Tall poles wrapped with streamers supported a net of string lights above our heads. Huge cloth-covered tables sat ready with empty plates and silverware. I might not have been able to see the food yet, but I could certainly smell it in the air. Decorations like pumpkins, ice-sculptures, and flowers were set up all over the place, too. Other students — some already eating — were seated and laughing with each other. Overall, the effect was of a really beautiful, put-together party.

I thought I spotted Joker and his friends over at one of the faraway tables, laughing unkindly, but I decided to ignore them. The space was big enough that we'd be able to avoid the group entirely, and he didn't seem to have seen any of us. Besides, he'd be away from me long enough that I'd downgraded him from "serious threat" to "huge asshole" and it was hard to feel afraid of him now.

Next to me, Angela clapped her hands and took my attention away from the other students. "This place looks gorgeous!" she said, tugging on Garnet's arm. "Come on!"

While Garnet and Angela sat down, Jagger hung back, squinting. "You okay?" I asked him.

"I...yeah. Just feeling like I've got a headache. My head is buzzing."

"You want to go back? I can walk you."

He shook his head. "No, I don't want you to miss out. Maybe it's a blood sugar thing. Just...sit with me a while?"

I hoped he couldn't see my cheeks turn red when I replied, "Of course I will."

I helped him to a seat near Garnet and Angela, who were already deep in conversation about a story Garnet was working on for Professor Book's class. "So, like, the idea is that the robots will be the best astronauts because they don't have a finite lifetime?" Angela was asking. "Because they can just keep going forever?"

"Exactly! It's like taking the idea of rovers on Mars to its logical conclusion!" Garnet's eyes were bright. "Human lives are short, but robots are forever."

"That sounds like a James Bond title," I interjected. "Robots Are Forever."

"Ooh, _that's_ what you should write!" Angela said enthusiastically. "People love spy movies! Lies, subterfuge, chase scenes! Blackmail and extortion! Honeypots!"

"Honeypots?" Jagger asked. He was rubbing his temples and groaning.

"Oh, yes," Angela said, smiling. "It's a spy trick. An attractive person seduces their target, either for recruitment or to get something out of them. Not good for long-term allegiance, but it'll do in a pinch."

Beneath our voices, I could hear a noise. It was a buzzing sound, and as I strained to hear it started getting louder. Jagger had his hands pressed over his ears and seemed to be fighting tears. Garnet stared at us, her mouth turned down in a worried frown, and moved as if to stand. Her confusion quickly turned to panic.

"Guys?" she said. "I can't get up."

When I tried, I had the same problem. It was like my butt had been glued to the bench; no matter which way I twisted or how hard I pulled, I couldn't move. I heard shouting and saw that at the other tables other people were struggling just as much as us. The only one who wasn't screaming or shaking was Angela, who sat with her hands folded on the table in front of her and a serene smile on her face.

A number of things started to fall together. The Harvest Festival was outdoors, in a place that didn't really look like the East Quad. We'd followed signs to get here. People were eating and drinking despite not having paid or exchanged goods for their meal. And the food tables, I suddenly realized, were arranged in a circle.

"Oh, shit," I whispered. "It's a trap."

Angela's serene smile turned outright malicious. "Honeypots," she said, "are my favorite thing."

The buzzing drowned out the screaming.

***

Time moves differently in the Else. I might have been unconscious for an hour, or it might have been a hundred years. But no matter how long I'd been asleep, by the time I opened my eyes my mouth was dry, my stomach growling, and I was uncomfortably hot. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to solve any of these problems, because my whole body — save for my head — was bound up in something that held me immobile.

Being unable to move made me panic, and I tried to break myself free. When that didn't work, I found I was taking shallow, panicked breaths. Soon after that, I was shouting.

Between my shouts, I could hear another voice. "Hey, Marbles, hey." It was Jagger's voice, low and steady, that convinced me to stop my screaming. "Marbles, it's okay. We're right here with you."

If I turned my head slightly to the left, I could see Jagger and Garnet. Their heads stuck up out of what looked like clay cocoons. "Guys?" My voice wavered as I spoke. "Where are we?"

"Hey, it's okay," Jagger said again. I wondered if he said it for my benefit or his own. "We're in Else, I think."

"Gentry trap," Garnet said. Her voice was hoarse like she'd been crying. "Angela led us into it."

"But Angela was _human!"_ I insisted. "We know she was!"

"Yeah," Jagger said. "And I'll bet you dinner for a week that she traded us to save her own skin. Probably owed the Gentry a favor."

"She said she liked honeypots," Garnet said bitterly. "Who fucking knew?"

I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn't in much of a place to offer optimism. I strained against my prison once again and still couldn't get loose. "What is this stuff?" I asked.

"Mud," Jagger said. "That buzzing we heard? I think it's Else's version of mud wasps. They wrapped us up in this stuff to keep us from moving around."

"And the other students? The other ones at the Festival?"

Jagger was quiet for a minute. "If they're here, I think they're in trouble," he said finally.

"Why?"

"Because some species of wasps are carnivorous."

I felt my stomach heave and hoped I wouldn't throw up here. "Are they're going to eat us?" I whispered.

"If they try, they're gonna choke on me," Garnet said, voice husky with tears. "But I don't think we're on the menu just yet. I think they're arguing."

Buzzing sounded loud in my ears suddenly, and there were people in front of us.

Well, "people" is the wrong word. Six-feet-tall and impossibly thin (with pinched waists, no less), a handful of creatures were studying us. They looked like wasps that tried to morph into humans and gave up almost immediately. Long, buggy limbs jutted out from their abdomens, while large mirrored eyes ran their way over our prisons. The beating of their wings were what caused the teeth-rattling buzzy noise. Although, the snapping jaws that clicked inches away from my face were of more immediate concern.

"Marked," one of them said to the others. "Feel it."

A waspish arm touched my face and I felt a pinch. The wasp's face loomed larger in my vision for a brief moment. "There."

"A small mark. A _mortal_ mark." I didn't know a wasp could sneer, but this one did. "It is of no consequence. The Mother will see to it."

The wasps picked up our muddy prisons and began to carry us away. We must have been in some kind of enormous hive; I couldn't see the sky, but I could see towering mud walls. There were hundreds of wasp-people flitting around. Some were spitting up mud on the walls, while others appeared to be creating little mud storage units. It would probably have been fascinating to anyone else, but I didn't want to see any more. Some of the wasps were eating, and I was afraid to find out what.

Eventually, our prisons were set down and I risked opening my eyes. In front of us was a huge elevated platform with an elaborate mud throne upon it. Seated in the throne was another of the wasp-people. She — I don't know how I knew it was a she — was taller than the others and had a more commanding presence. Her head was triangular, but dozens of human eyes were arranged in the typical wasp shape. Instead of clicking jaws, she had a wide human mouth with pincers that jutted out from the corners. Huge, rainbow-shimmering wings flitted at her back, and her curling antennae glowed with a deep gold light.

If I hadn't already been scared, she would have utterly terrified me.

She looked at us as if we were the insects and not her. "These?" she asked the ones who brought us to her. "These caused you to hesitate?"

One of the wasp people shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze. "Marked," it said. "Felt wrong. Like poison."

The wasp-woman stepped down from her platform. Her limbs reminded me of a person that had been stretched out and melted. Fingers brushed over Jagger's face. "Wordsmiths," she said. "Apprentice ones. They have made promises to another mortal. It matters not. Human vows are snapped as easily as threads. But storytellers are more useful for sport than for a meal."

Her hand dropped away and I saw Jagger shudder. "They ate and drank nothing at the feast?" she asked the other wasp-people, as if we weren't capable of answering for ourselves.

"Nothing, Mother."

She made a noise that suggested displeasure. "Annoying. But easily remedied. Place them—"

Whatever she wanted them to do with us was drowned out by a loud pounding against one of the walls. The wasp-people buzzed and scrambled around, like real wasps do when their nest is disturbed. The pounding grew louder and more frequent until at last part of the wall fell away with a loud _crack_.

Moonlight spilled into the newly-made hole and I could see a figure standing in silhouette there. In their hand was what looked like a club or a stick, and they used this to widen the hole even more. The wasp-people screamed and buzzed at the intruder's audacity, swelling forward to attack. When they were within arm's length, however, they shrieked and scattered away, climbing higher on the walls. From this new position of safety, they glared down at the newcomer, wings flapping in agitation.

The person stepped inside the hive and I saw a flash of silver hair. _Professor Book?_ I thought.

As the figure came closer, there was no mistaking her. Our professor strode across the floor of the hive, shoulders straight and head held high. In one hand was a long iron bar that looked a little like a tiny baseball bat; her other hand was buried deep in the pocket of the heavy coat she wore. Slung over one shoulder was a small leather bag that bulged with items. She looked like an intrepid adventurer and not my writing teacher.

As she walked, she ignored the distressed wasp-people that tripped over themselves to get out of her way; she didn't stop moving until she was directly in front of the wasp-woman. Once there, the Professor — unsmiling — offered a deep, respectful bow to our captor.

"Lady," the Professor said, in a voice achingly polite, "your lovely home had no entry door. I have gifted one to you."

The hive was silent, I heard Jagger suck in his breath, and even the wasp-woman was speechless at the Professor's audacious statement. Gifts were sacred things — given one, you had to respond in kind — but breaking a wall of a Gentry dwelling and insisting it was really a present might have been stretching the definition. The wasp-people buzzed and looked towards their leader, unsure of how to proceed.

After what felt like years, but was probably only about thirty seconds, the wasp-woman began to laugh. At least, I think it was a laugh; the sound wasn't anything I'd call pleasant. "You have gifted me a hole, mortal, and thus gifted me a fine example of nothing," she said to the Professor. "State your business in my Court."

The Professor bowed again, then lifted her gaze to the wasp-woman's eyes. "I have come for my students," she said, gesturing at us with the iron bar. "They are mine, bound to me with promises written in ink and kept in iron. You will return them to me."

Wings buzzed angrily from all corners of the hive. "These mortals entered here willingly," the wasp-woman said. "They belong to me now."

"Willingly?" the Professor echoed. "They were stolen away."

"You accuse me of theft?"

Some of the wasp people moved towards Professor Book, but she held out her iron club in their direction and narrowed her eyes. "Keep your distance," she warned. "I'm carrying more than just salt and iron. The Chemistry Department, for example, is dying to know how well some of its experiments burn."

The mention of fire froze all the wasps in their tracks. The Professor turned back to the wasp-woman. "I know you," she said to her. "The stories call you the Waspwife and your drones lure in students to serve as food for your hive. When you emerged from your egg you killed your sisters and your mother, and now you consume any daughter that threatens your rule. Once you waged war with the Lord Butterfly of the Summer Sidhe and feasted on enemy corpses for months afterwards. You were the last to retreat when the Wyrm claimed the Lost Court and its spoils. You are old and powerful and a warrior who glories in battle. I know you."

The Waspwife's antennae twitched appreciatively. "My fame precedes me, I see."

"Oh, yes," Professor Book replied. "I've heard many stories about you. Several of them from a boy called Mantis."

The whole hive burst into synchronized, ear-splitting screeches — even the Waspwife. "How dare you speak his name here!" she shouted. "Murderer and thief! Fire-bringer and egg-smasher! May he die screaming!"

Professor Book held her ground and I swore I could see the ghost of a smile cross her lips. "Mantis was _very_ helpful in telling me how to find your hive," she continued, as if the Waspwife wasn't screaming bloody murder. "And he told me secrets, Lady — some of them about you. And while I would be loath to divulge any of them, I will not hesitate to do so — loudly — if my students and I are not allowed to leave here unharmed."

The Lady had stopped screaming, but her wings continued to buzz her displeasure. "You cannot threaten me in my own hive," she said in a low voice. "You thought to walk in here and make demands of me? You are nothing but _meat,_ girl, and I will feast upon your flesh myself if you do not flee now. Whatever promises you have extracted from these children is nothing but a pale shadow of the power I wield."

She stepped close to Professor Book, all of her height looming over my suddenly-looking-very-fragile-and-human teacher. "Flee, _child,_ before I lose my patience."

I could see the iron bar waver; the Professor's hand was shaking. Then I saw her knuckles go white as she gripped it, and the shaking stopped. Deliberately, she raised her head as high as it could go and looked the Waspwife dead in the eyes. "Lady," she said, "do you know me?"

The Waspwife cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "Why would a mortal like you be of any interest to me?" she sneered. "Have you a great name, or deeds to match mine? Why should I know you?"

"Perhaps word of me has not yet spread this far into Else," the Professor said, as if the Waspwife wasn't offering her insult. "I am she who made no deals with either Gentry or student for eleven years. I have parleyed with the Wyrm who stole a Court from beneath the Gentry's feet. I am favored by the Lord of Moss and Shadow and have been gifted the glory of his patronage. I am Wordsmith and Tale-Collector. I have quite literally written a book on your kind, Lady, so if you don't think I know how all this works, you're absolutely wrong."

Her voice never wavered; I'd be impressed with that once I wasn't scared she was going to be killed. Her knuckles — still white as she gripped her iron bar — were the only indicators of her tension. "These students are mine," Professor Book continued, with more force than I'd ever heard her use. "The contract I've made with them requires their presence in my classroom and their stories on my desk. And if they go missing or fail to deliver work, that same contract gives me leave to track down my students and bring them back — even here in Underhill. By the very laws you hold sacred, these students are my property and you will release them to me. My name is Book, and I will bring this whole damn hive down if you deny me what's mine."

The Waspwife's wings stopped buzzing and the air in the hive had gone deadly still. Her next words echoed through the empty air. "You are a fool, child." I'd handled knives with less edge than the Lady's voice held. "You think you can frighten me with your threats? Sway me with words of contracts and vows? You stand on Else ground, and the rules are different. I offer you this last chance: turn back the way you came, and I will do you the gracious favor of pretending you were not foolish enough to threaten me in my own hive."

Professor Book was silent for so long that I worried she was actually going to abandon us to the Waspwife. The iron bar tapped against her leg as she bit her lower lip. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she lifted her gaze to the Lady in front of her. "I've had enough of favors," she said.

And she swung the iron bar at the Waspwife's face.

The Waspwife was too old and powerful to be killed by a strike from an iron club. But she was still Gentry, and thus susceptible to iron's power all the same. The blow sent her to her knees — screaming — and I could see the ironburn beneath one of her eyes. Her hands clawed uselessly at her face as if to remove the wound.

Professor Book didn't strike her a second time, and in the seconds that it took the Waspwife to recover, the Professor was under attack. The Lady's mouth opened wide and she spat something in Professor Book's direction. The liquid smoked and sizzled in the air, moving so quickly that my teacher didn't have a chance to guard herself. It hit her square in her right shoulder, splashing upwards across her neck and down over her arm. Whatever the Waspwife spit at her, it was dissolving her coat.

The resulting scream of pain the Professor let out barely sounded human. But it was nothing compared to the utterly inhuman scream that something _outside_ the hive made in response. I watched every single one of the Waspwife's eyes widen in fear before the top of the hive was ripped away.

I caught a glimpse of giant bird wings and grasping, bony fingers — all larger than life — before they vanished from view. A moment later the hive shuddered as something slammed hard into it; bits of the hive fell inward and narrowly missed hitting me and the others. The next bits that fell were burning and I shut my eyes to protect them.

But I didn't get to keep my eyes closed for long. The shattering of my mud prison sent me tumbling to the ground in a jumble of limbs; my arms and legs had fallen asleep and the pins-and-needles feeling was strong enough to make me gasp. I opened my eyes just in time to see Professor Book using her iron bar to smash the mud holding Jagger and Garnet captive.

"Get up!" the Professor shouted at us. "Come on, move!"

I wanted to protest that I couldn't, but she was already dragging me to my feet. As she did, I saw the ugly mark that the Waspwife's attack had left on her. A horrific burn snaked its way down the side of her neck and across her shoulder and collarbone — a splash of red welts that looked like a severe sunburn. I saw little wisps of smoke rising from her coat and realized she was still burning.

She shook me hard. "Stare later!" she snapped. "This hive is coming down!"

This was enough to bring me back to the moment. More of the hive had caught fire — who knew mud could burn? — and we were going to run out of options very soon. Professor Book's head jerked around as she looked for our exit. I saw the worry in her eyes as she — and then we — realized that the hole she'd originally made to enter was completely blocked by frantic wasp-people. We'd get torn apart if we left that way.

Professor Book dug through her pockets, searching for something. "Damn it all!" she practically screeched. "Where is—"

Another impact shook the hive. Instinctively, Professor Book moved to shield us from whatever she thought was coming. It was only when another hole opened in the side of the hive and revealed the handsome man that she broke into a smile.

"Between!" she shouted happily. "You came!"

"If we survive this, I'm going to kill you!" the handsome man — Between — said in response.

Oddly, the Professor didn't seem to find this off-putting. "Go, go, go!" she said, pushing Garnet, Jagger, and me towards the man. "Don't look back and don't stop!"

We were too scared to argue. Even when we heard the roar of a forest fire behind us, none of us dared turn our heads back to look. I wish now I'd checked to make sure the Professor was planning on following us; at the time I was too worried about myself to ask about anyone else.

When we reached Between, he had a thin length of metal wire in his hands. Quickly, and without saying a word, he looped it around my wrist and did the same with Garnet and Jagger. A gentle tug on his part made the loops of wire pull taut. Involuntarily, I jerked against it and was rewarded with a sting like grabbing a handful of nettles. Despite my protests against the pain, Between wouldn't remove the wire from any of us.

"Come on," he said. "Don't pull against it and it won't hurt. Trust me."

I didn't trust him, but I trusted Professor Book's trust of him, so I grit my teeth and followed when he started walking. True to his word, the wire didn't sting as long as I didn't pull on it or try to get away. As long as he took it off when we were safe, I could handle it.

We had just started to walk when Garnet dug her heels in. "What about the Professor?" she demanded. "Where did she go?"

I saw Between's shoulders stiffen, but he didn't slow. "Don't look back," he said. "She'll find us after."

Garnet struggled for another few seconds before she cried out in pain and started moving again. The three of us followed Between like baby ducks, our wrists bound to the wire in his hand. I wished I could have reached out and held my friends; I was more scared now than I had been a few minutes ago.

Between led us out of the burning hive and into the fresh air of Else. I expected him to stop when we were free of the hive, but he didn't. He kept moving, without looking back at us and without slowing his pace. Relentless in his walking, he tugged us along through the trees.

The citizens of Else, in all their strange shapes, cajoled us with offer after offer of power and wealth and beauty and vengeance. Trees sang promises of knowledge. Animals offered free wishes. Sparks of light and snatches of music hovered and danced just beyond our fingertips. Here was _magic,_ raw and glowing and _alive_ and even though I knew it was dangerous I still wanted it. Despite the fact we knew that Else wasn't safe for us, we still begged Between to let us see the magic here. When he ignored all our pleading, we instead insisted that we were exhausted and needed a moment to rest. He ignored this, too. Even when all three of us tugged together in hopes of making him stop, Between's steps never faltered and he never looked back at us. He just kept pulling us forward until the woods of Else faded around us and transitioned back into the regular trees of the University campus.

Only when we were back on normal ground did Between release us from our wire guide and let us collapse onto the grass. I rubbed my wrist where it stung, but was surprised to see that there wasn't a wound there. Had he used some kind of magic on us? Was all of it just a trick?

I couldn't ask him, because Between wasn't focused on any of us. His face was turned towards the trees and his eyes scanned from side to side. "Come on, Book," he muttered. "Come on."

We saw only the orange glow of a burning forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this portion. My job called me back to work a full month earlier than expected (good news for my bank account!) and I've been swamped with busy workdays.
> 
> Thank you very much to everyone who left kudos and comments on both this and my other piece. It really makes me feel good.


	3. Part Three

### 

Fine Print

**Part Three**

Administration thought it best to evacuate students while the forest burned. In retrospect, this was the smartest thing they could have done. Not only did it buy them time to figure out how to explain that twenty-nine students were missing, but it would also make sure that no one else suffered the same fate; in times of panic, the Gentry were known to offer deals that made disaster profiteers look like saints.

I still don't know how they organized everything so quickly, but by the time Between had led me, Garnet, and Jagger back to campus, staff members were already telling students to pack an emergency bag and line up for buses. Teachers and groundskeepers and janitors went door to door, pounding on the wood until students opened up and could be warned of potential danger. No one was excused from being informed.

"Go," Between said to the three of us. "Get your things and get on the buses. Take protections if you have them prepared, but the bus should keep you safe enough."

"What about Professor Book?" Jagger demanded. "She's still there!"

"You will let me worry about her." Between's voice took on a commanding sharpness. "She was there to save you three. You'll not dishonor that by putting yourselves in danger. She _will_ come back."

"But—"

_"Now."_

I found myself moving to comply without intending to. By the time I got control of myself again, Between was gone and other staff members had noticed our presence. With startling efficiency, we were escorted back to our dorm rooms, allowed to pack one bag of essentials, and taken down to the loading zone.

On the bus, Garnet, Jagger, and I sat together, clasping hands and trying not to cry. "She'll get out, right?" Garnet whispered. "Like, there's no way she's dying, right?"

"She told that Gentry Lady that she had a patron," Jagger whispered back. "He wouldn't let her die, I'm sure."

"But what about the other students who were at the Harvest Festival?" I asked. "Did you see any of them?"

Silence.

From the windows of the bus I could see Elsewhere disappearing into the distance. The smell of smoke in my nose and the mud on my jeans were the only evidence I had that everything with the Waspwife had really happened — the only evidence that we survived. And I could only hope that everyone else who'd been there had survived, too.

***

Those of us who'd been evacuated took refuge in a disused community center in the nearest town, stretched out on cots and practically crowded on top of one another. News came in limited bursts, if at all, and there was still no word on if Professor Book and the missing students had been found. All we knew was that we couldn't go back to school yet.

Officially, the school said that a small bonfire at the Harvest Festival had grown out of control, catching on dried leaves and sticks before moving on to the rest of the school's sizable forest. If you didn't pay attention to the inconsistencies of the timeline (like the fact the fire had started _after_ the Festival was supposed to have ended, or that the apparent source was nowhere close to the advertised event) it made sense. A bonfire wouldn't have been out of place at something like a school event, and it wasn't hard to picture a bunch of rowdy students accidentally setting the wrong thing on fire.

Of course, it didn't account for the fact that twenty-nine students were missing, or that Professor Book — who had been seen decidedly _not_ at the Harvest Festival the day before — was gone, too. Students in the know were already whispering "Gentry" before the official story even had a chance to be announced. Now the only speculation was if any of them were going to come back.

My roommate, Rosie, had found me at the community center soon after we arrived. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face dirty. I only had a second to notice this, though, since soon after half the air in my lungs was forcibly expelled when she tackle-hugged me. "You massive idiot!" she shouted. I could feel her fists hitting my back. "Going to something called a Harvest Festival? Following signs to an outdoor event? Not checking the tables to see how they were arranged? Are you a complete moron?"

My head felt swimmy and heavy, so I mostly just stared at her. "How did you—" I started to say, but she cut me off.

"You were gone for a full day, dummy," she replied. "Do you know what I had to go through just to figure out where you'd gone? Shit, if someone hadn't seen you looking at that Harvest Festival poster I wouldn't have known anything was wrong!"

With Rosie's help, I eventually pieced together some missing information. Turns out that the Harvest Festival had a long and storied history — one that always ended up causing a handful of student disappearances as the Waspwife filled her larder for winter. Usually an EU staff member was responsible for putting protections in place and thwarting the Waspwife's plans, but this year some too-convenient-to-be-coincidence internal shuffling had resulted in a department vacancy for the first time in almost two decades. So for the first time in a long time, the Waspwife had access to a bountiful harvest and no one to stop her.

The timing of the Festival was perfect. With the campus practically deserted thanks to the holiday, no one noticed that students were missing for almost a full day. It was only because Rosie noticed I wasn't home at eleven that night to take my sleeping pill (I never thought insomnia would save my life) that she got worried enough to figure out where I went. In the process of asking about me, she figured out that a lot of other students had gone missing, too.

So Rosie did what any panicked sophomore does when they suspect Gentry mischief: she went to the RAs and the Knights for help.

"They didn't know what to do," Rosie told me. "Usually when students are Taken there's a trail to follow. But with you guys, they didn't know where to start the search. We figured out it was the Harvest Festival really fast, but there was nothing there that told us where they took you."

Wandering randomly into Else and hoping you found who you were looking for was a death sentence. And the Gentry who normally dealt in information were keeping weirdly mum on the subject, too scared of the Waspwife's wrath to risk ratting her out to mortals. It seemed like the Knights (and the school) were just going to lose the equivalent of an entire classroom to the Gentry.

But then one of the Knights mentioned asking the faculty for help, and Rosie remembered that I'd signed a contract with Professor Book, and she ran all the way to the English Department Offices to try to track her down. Her office was dark and locked, but Rosie wasn't deterred. She ran everywhere the faculty were known to gather, interrogating everyone she could find as to the Professor's whereabouts. When no one knew, she finally resorted to visiting the faculty housing section of campus and knocking on Professor Book's door.

"She was really pissed," Rosie told me. "But then I explained you were gone and she was pissed at the Gentry instead of me. She said she'd take care of it, and that I should go back to the dorms and line our thresholds and windows with salt. I tried to tell her I wanted to come, but she got scary and I went home instead."

"Probably a smart move," Garnet said. "Especially after we saw her hit one of the Gentry in the face."

Rosie stared. "When I finish my part of the story, you are _so_ telling me yours," she said. "Anyway, I went back to the dorms and she must have gone after you."

Some of the Knights were at the community center, too, and we sought them out for more information. We found one, a girl named Galahad, busy lining all the doors and windows with salt and bits of iron. "Yeah, we saw Professor Book heading for the woods," she said as she worked. "Had that 'don't fuck with me' look, you know? So we followed her."

"She let you come?" Jagger asked.

Galahad shook her head. "Tried to get us to go back," she said. "Said it was going to be dangerous. We told her we had to get the other missing students back. Tried arguing for a while, but didn't work. Finally agreed to let us follow her if we let her try to negotiate first."

"So you were there?" Garnet prompted. "You saw what happened at the hive?"

Galahad shook her head again. "I didn't go."

Another Knight, Percival, added, "Not all of us went. In case the first group didn't make it back, the rest of us had to be on call. We have a protocol."

"Then none of you know what happened to the Professor? Or the other students?"

"We're in the dark as much as you," Percival said. "Either they're still stuck in Else, or..."

 _Or they're dead,_ I thought. Out loud, I said, "They're gonna be okay."

"Hope so," Galahad grunted. "Otherwise we're the next group in when the school opens up again."

Normal procedure would have been to leave them something in thanks for their information, but no one in the community center had brought enough to trade. When I offered an IOU for their knowledge, the Knights waved it away. "Freely given," Percival said. "We're all waiting this out together."

And it turns out the waiting paid off. Because on day four in the community center, Professor Book came back.

***

The story reads more like a fairy tale than reality, but here's what I heard:

The firefighters had spent a grueling four days battling the flames in the trees. Normally, this should have burned acres and acres, but for whatever reason the fires were confined to an area of less than ten acres. The problem was that those fires were both difficult to get to and, for whatever reason, stubbornly refusing to go out. No matter how much water they poured on it, the wood just kept reigniting.

They explained it away as some weird phenomenon where tree sap smolders like peat or creosote and the school didn't bother to try to correct them. As for why the fire wasn't moving, they didn't really have an explanation. In their words, "Sometimes fire has a mind of its own."

Like I said, they'd been battling the fires for four days without gaining any ground. But as the sun started to set, something in the air shifted. Suddenly their hoses were soaking the trees and the flames were drowning. And when the last of the fires was nothing more than a pile of smoking ashes, people started emerging from the woods.

At first it was only one or two students. But as the firefighters stared in shock, bigger groups moved forward. Some of the students were smeared with ashes and looked like they'd spent all day in a coal mine. Others had burns, or cuts, or limps. A few cradled arms protectively, and one had a makeshift bandage wrapped around their head. Before long a group of twenty-eight students were safely out of the forest and in the care of hastily-called ambulances.

Professor Book was the last one out of the forest. She was just as filthy as the rest of them and clearly in the early stages of severe dehydration. Her shoes were gone; she'd torn up her coat and made foot wrappings instead. At her side, a half-dazed Joker was sporting what looked like a wound from a huge set of pincers on the right side of his chest. He was otherwise unharmed.

As she limped her way up to the EMTs, Professor Book passed Joker off to someone more-qualified in medicine than her. "I would have brought them back sooner," she said in a hoarse voice, "but the bastards took my shoes."

She probably should have been taken to the hospital, but she refused to go by ambulance. And since she wasn't unconscious or critical enough for medical personnel to make the decision for her, they reluctantly allowed her to sit on the grass. They offered her an IV of fluids, though she refused it in favor of bottled water, and turned their attention instead to the students. By the time anyone had a spare moment to check on her, she was already walking back to campus.

All this was related to us by a breathless Knight seconds after the evacuated students were allowed back on campus. More stories and rumors swirled in the days after: that the Professor was Gentry, that she'd declared war on the Courts, that she'd bargained away something precious to save the students who'd been lost. Someone else insisted that the Professor hadn't performed any great deeds at all, but had only walked everyone in circles for endless days until they all stumbled onto the right path. It seemed like there more versions of the story than there had been people to tell them.

If the students who'd been with her knew anything, they weren't talking; sometimes Else holds on to its secrets.


	4. Epilogue

### 

Fine Print

**Epilogue**

I guess I was expecting things to be different after the Harvest Festival. I thought that maybe twenty-nine students and a teacher going missing would be a bigger deal, or that everyone would be talking about it the same way they talked about the Chemistry Department's War on the Gentry. This story should have been spoken of with breathless wonder and people should have fallen at the Professor's feet anytime she walked by. She should have been a hero.

But things just...settled. The only comment the school made about the "Harvest Festival Incident" would have fit in a tweet: "The school would like to assure students that the incident at the Harvest Festival was brought under control. The campus is safe."

And that was pretty much the end of it. Students who had been away during the mandatory evacuation came back to a campus that wasn't destroyed and a forest that was only a little scorched. Faculty came back to their classrooms. The Gentry, too, had come back normally — or at least as normal as they ever were — and none of them had anything to say about the Waspwife and Professor Book.

Even classes had resumed as normal. The first Tuesday after the break, Professor Book was back in her classroom, once again lecturing about the importance of stories and reminding us that our final project was due on the last day of class. She spoke so casually that I was starting to wonder if I'd imagined everything that'd happened. There wasn't even any hint of the Waspwife's burn on her shoulder and neck.

I wanted so badly to ask her if everything had really happened, but she didn't seem to have a moment to spare. Right at the end of class, Between arrived, looking serious and tapping his wristwatch. The Professor's smile looked strained, but she nodded in a sort of resigned way. She bid us a hastier farewell than usual, leaving no time for questions.

Jagger and Garnet looked as disappointed as I was. "Damn it," Garnet grumbled.

"I wonder if she's in trouble," Jagger said worriedly.

"Why would she be in trouble?" I asked. "She saved a whole bunch of people!"

"Maybe that's the problem," Jagger said darkly. "Maybe she wasn't supposed to."

***

Professor Book kept teaching, though she was looking a little more harried than normal. Between kept showing up right at the end of class to sweep her off to who-knows-where, and there didn't seem to be a way to track them down. The Professor never missed office hours, but you couldn't find her anywhere else.

So life went back to normal, mostly, for the last few weeks of the semester.

But if you looked, there were hints that something had happened. A small pile of gifts was left outside of Professor Book's office each week: tiny iron sculptures, individual salt packs, beautiful leatherbound notebooks, fresh pens. The Knights, when they passed the forest or faculty housing, touched their iron reverently. Students who had been Taken by the Waspwife traveled together and became the most adept at spotting Gentry traps. And the bit of the forest that burned was already springing up with new trees.

But the biggest change on campus was Joker. Garnet, Jagger, and I ran into him in the Student Center a week after the return; we didn't even recognize him. Gone was the cocky asshole who'd been intimidating and rude. This new Joker was quiet and thoughtful and approached us with all the humility of a monk at prayer.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Can I talk to you guys?"

Garnet — understandably, given her history with him — wasn't willing to instantly trust him. "What the hell do you want?" she asked.

"To apologize," he said.

Garnet's mouth opened and then snapped shut. When she regained a little composure, she asked, "Say what?"

"I would like to offer an apology for my behavior since I've known you," he said again. "I was a sexist piece of shit, and it wasn't right. I would like to make amends."

Now Garnet was too shocked to speak, so Jagger took over. "Joker—" he began.

"Jack."

"Huh?" Jagger asked.

"It's Jack now," he said. "Like jackass, or jack shit. Because that's what I was...before. I'm trying to be different now."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You know how people say that their life flashes before their eyes right before they're gonna die? Well, I got that back at the hive. I saw my whole life. And I don't really like what I saw."

Garnet, Jagger, and I exchanged looks. Silently, I pulled out a chair as an offer for Joker — Jack — to sit down. He smiled gratefully and took the seat. We all pulled close together to attempt private conversation.

"So what happened at the hive?" I asked, in the lowest voice I could manage. "We got out before the rest of you and nobody's talking."

Jack wore an iron chain around his neck. As he spoke, he touched it nervously. "Bad shit, dude," he said. "After that _thing_ smashed the hive and it started coming down, the Knights came in and started pulling people out. But they didn't get me. I don't know if they couldn't see me through the smoke and fire, or if they could and decided I wasn't worth the help. I watched them go and thought I was going to die there."

Jagger shuddered. "That's awful."

"I was screaming and crying," Jack continued. "And then the Professor was there. She pulled me out — even with all the shit I'd talked about her, she still pulled me out — and dragged my ass out of the hive. She kept telling me it was gonna be okay and to just keep moving. One of those wasp things jumped on me and bit me, but she hit it away and just kept pulling me out. I'd have curled up and died if it wasn't for her."

"Jesus," Garnet whispered.

"We met up with the rest of the group after that and she tried to walk us out of the woods. But this mud puddle — I swear to God it was alive — sucked the shoes off her feet. The Prof got pretty pissed. After that we realized we kept wandering in circles and couldn't find the path out. So she made us stick together and gave us food and water from her bag. We all slept in shifts and made sure no one wandered off or made a deal to get out. Towards the end I saw her talking to something in the shadows, and the next day we were back on campus."

"What was she talking to?" Garnet asked.

Jack shrugged. "Not a clue. Couldn't make it out from where I was, and I was sorta delirious at that point anyway. She didn't seem scared, though, and whatever she talked to must have helped."

Jagger chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Weird," he said. "She must have made a deal."

"Maybe," Jack said. "But either way, she got us out. And she saved me when she didn't have to. So now I owe her, and I figure the best way to repay her is to be someone who deserved to get saved."

I blinked. Was this really the same person who'd scared me so badly on the first day of class? If he hadn't been wearing iron and playing with the salt on the table, I would have been convinced he'd been swapped out for someone else. "That's...really inspirational," I said, unsure of what else to say.

Jack laughed, a surprisingly warm expression for his face. "Maybe I should submit that shit to Hallmark," he said. "Make up a whole Gentry-inspired line."

The rest of us found ourselves laughing, too. "It's a little niche, maybe, but it'd sell well in the campus bookstore," Jagger said.

"Heh, true enough." Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. "Anyway, I should probably get going. I've got a lot of apologies to make. Hopefully I'll catch you guys later?" It was impossible to miss the note of hope in his voice.

I glanced at Garnet, who gave a very brief nod. "Yeah," I said to him. "See you around, Jack."

(And we did see him around, in the semesters after. We saw him helping freshmen who had forgotten protection, or carrying books for overwhelmed students in the Library, or as he was leaving his therapy sessions in the campus Mental Health Services building. His experiences in the hive had brought about a genuine, deep-rooted change in his behavior, and the person he became after was someone I was glad to count amongst friends. But that's another story entirely.)

"Well," Jagger said, as we watched Jack walk away. "I guess that just about ties up loose ends."

But I knew there was still one more thing to do: I had to talk to Professor Book.

***

Professor Book's office was on the third floor of the English Department building, tucked into a corner as if apologizing for being in your way. I saw a new gift pile beside her door, which had been ringed with a line of salt. The Professor's door was open a crack and I could hear voices as I came closer.

"—starting to die down. By next semester all of this will have blown over."

"You're being very optimistic." I recognized the second voice as Between's. "Many of them are still spitting mad. You had the right to take your three, but the rest of them? You're lucky you haven't been attacked walking across campus. Didn't you used to be more cautious than this?"

"Don't lecture me on caution." Professor Book's voice had the same edge as when she confronted the Waspwife. "There is a difference between being careful and being compliant. And if you think I'm going to apologize for making sure a group of students didn't get eaten or bargained away to Gentry, you'll have a long wait."

The frustrated sigh from Between was the loudest thing on the floor. "You know that's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying you need to be more careful about your actions. You won't have the contracts to protect you next time."

"Noted," the Professor said in a clipped tone. "Now will you excuse me? Marbles has been waiting politely by the door and I'd like to talk to them."

I jumped at the mention of my name and moved into the doorway guiltily. "If this is a bad time—" I began.

She sat behind a large wooden desk that was stacked high with papers and the walls of her office were crammed with overflowing bookshelves. "My office has been a revolving door of Administration folks the last few days. Frankly, the presence of a student is a relief."

"I suppose that's my cue to leave," Between said, shooting her an irritated glance.

"You're like a mind reader," the Professor said mildly. "I'll see you later tonight."

I had to step out of the doorway so Between could pass me. He gave little more than a curt nod in my direction before walking off down the hall. Professor Book gave an amused snort from behind her desk.

"He's so dramatic sometimes. Anyway, come on in. Mind the salt on the threshold, if you would. And if you'd prefer privacy, feel free to shut the door."

I did as she said, careful not to upset the salt line as I entered the room and shut the door. When I was safely inside, the Professor gestured to a comfortable armchair opposite her desk. I sank into it gratefully, suddenly nervous.

"Now," the Professor said. "I doubt you came all the way up here just to eavesdrop. Is this about your final project, or something a little more personal?"

My mouth felt dry now and I would have killed for some water. "Personal," I said. "I want to talk about the Harvest Festival."

"Ah." The Professor folded her hands on her desk. "I should have guessed as much. What is it that's bothering you?"

I had planned out everything I wanted to say. Hell, I'd rehearsed my speech with Rosie half a dozen times just so I could seem calm and logical when I asked questions. I was more prepared for this moment than anything I'd done in college until that point.

Which all ended up being for nothing, because I burst into tears almost immediately.

I don't know why I started crying. But Professor Book must have been prepared for this possibility, because she pushed a box of tissues my way. For a while she let me sob into the Kleenex, kindly looking out the window to offer me privacy. It was only when I got myself under control that she turned back.

"In case you're wondering, that's a normal response for a near-death experience at the hands of the Gentry," she said kindly. "I would recommend Mental Health Services after we're done here. They have some grad students who specialize in this sort of thing."

I nodded miserably. "I-I-I d-d-d-don't..."

"It's all right. Don't feel the need to rush."

She let me take another two or three minutes to finish composing myself. When I finally felt like I could speak, all my questions came rushing out at once. "Why isn't anyone talking about the Harvest Festival? How could you hit that Lady in the face? What happened to your burn? What tore apart the hive and set it on fire? Why were you gone so long and how did you get back? Why isn't anyone else asking these questions? Am I just being an idiot for wondering all this crap?"

Her head bobbed in unspoken apology. "I would never accuse you of idiocy," she said. "Some students want to forget, you know. Lord knows lots of the Festival attendees have already put it out of their minds. Would it comfort you if I said everything happened?"

"Screw comfort! I want answers!"

Professor Book smiled wryly. "The truth is that you were caught in a Gentry trap and going to be butchered for meat or kept as Court pets," she said. "But because you signed a contract that bound you to me and me to you, I was able to travel Underhill to get you. All of that happened."

"And the part where you smashed a Gentry in the face?" I asked. "That happened, too?"

"Yes."

"How are you not dead? You attacked a _Gentry!_ She should have slaughtered you!"

The Professor's eyebrow's quirked upwards. "Tactful," she said. "I'd work on that, if I were you."

I felt my face flush. "I didn't mean it like that. But, you did something that's supposed to be impossible."

"Attacking the Gentry isn't impossible," Professor Book corrected. "Inadvisable, yes. But if you do things the right way, you can survive it with minimal damage. Those contracts you and the others signed at the beginning of the semester offered me a modicum of protection and power in Else. Another part of it was just knowing which Gentry I was facing and what sorts of confrontation would elicit respect and hesitation on her part. But the biggest reason I'm not dead is because I'm under the protection of a very powerful Lord, and he saw the Lady's retaliatory spit attack as a grave insult."

I remembered her mentioning a patron to the Waspwife. For some reason I thought of those giant wings and bony fingers I saw when the hive roof broke. "He attacked the hive?" I asked.

The Professor nodded. "As far as he's concerned, I'm his property. When your kidnapper decided to harm me, she was indirectly attacking him. So he smashed the hive, set the fires, and sent the Lady and her people running."

"But," I asked, "didn't you attack her first?"

"No, I followed the rules," Professor Book replied. "I demanded your return three times. Since you were under my protection, you should have been returned to me. Thrice-denied allows me to strike one blow against her. She wasn't supposed to hit me back."

"There are _rules_ for hitting Gentry in the face?" I demanded. "Where do you find that out?"

A sigh escaped the Professor's lips. "Did you ever read my bio online like I suggested?" she asked. "If you had, you would have seen that my thesis was a collection of stories about the Gentry at Elsewhere University. If you study enough of the stories on campus, patterns emerge. There are rules for greetings and challenges and punishments. I demanded my right, was denied, and under the rules I could issue one blow as a reminder of that right. Her response _should_ have been an acknowledgement of her mistake and your safe return. The incorrect response was a mouthful of acid, and that's when my patron stepped in."

I'm sure I was staring at her in shock, but she didn't react to whatever she saw on my face. "In any case," the Professor continued, "that's why I could come for you and the reason the hive was destroyed. The Lady isn't dead — frankly, I'm not sure what _does_ kill Gentry, nor would I want to know — but she's going to be out of commission for a while. Fortunately, it's nearly winter and she'll have a whole season to sleep and forget the faces of the students she took. She might hate me for a good, long while, though."

"But your patron will protect you, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. She'll be leery of coming for me or mine again, as long as I don't go around bragging about besting one of the Fair Folk on their own turf. Which is why no one has been talking about it, you see. Better to fly under the radar than unfurl the banners and declare war."

"So things on campus are...okay?"

"If they aren't, they will be soon. Between has spent the time since I've been back smoothing a lot of ruffled feathers. He has a vested interest in keeping the balance between the school and the Gentry."

"Can I ask who he is?"

"It's not really my place to say," Professor Book replied. "But know that he's my friend, I trust him, and the reason I had him lead you out of the hive is because I knew he would keep you safe. I knew I couldn't leave unless I knew the rest of the students were out, too. Not strictly within the rules, which is why he's angry at me, but I couldn't leave anyone behind in that. The only one I didn't find was Angela, and Between is doing his best to track her down now. With luck, he'll be able to help her."

"Help Angela?" I asked. "But she sold us to the Gentry! She made Garnet like her and then betrayed us. She doesn't deserve help."

The Professor's eyes narrowed. It was a lot like watching a storm cloud pass over the sun. "Deserve?" she echoed. "You don't think that someone desperate enough to bargain with the Gentry deserves help?"

I knew I screwed up, but I also knew I couldn't apologize. "She sold us for _meat,_ Professor. I can't forgive that. And neither can the others."

"And I'm not saying you should," Professor Book countered. "She did a shitty thing to people who trusted her. If she's lucky, she'll have to live with that knowledge. But when you're young and scared and the monsters from your nightmares are going to drag you off, you try not promising them anything — everything — they want to get them to leave you alone. God knows I've been there."

I sat silent with that thought for a while. When she put it that way, it almost made sense for Angela to have done what she did. Didn't mean I wouldn't punch her in the jaw if I ever saw her again, though. Understanding her motivations didn't mean she wasn't an asshole.

Slowly, the Professor's eyes lost a little of their fierceness. "Anyway," she said. "Everyone who was Taken is safe and that's all I wanted."

"You didn't explain how you got out of the forest," I said. "Joker — I mean, Jack — told us some of it."

"Oh, that. Well, I lost my shoes — they have rowan in them, to guide your steps home — and I think the original idea was for the Gentry to offer deals when we were too desperate to say no. I had food and water enough for a few days, but we were running out on that last day. So I reminded the Gentry watching us that I had an appointment to keep on Tuesday, and they wouldn't like what happened if I missed it. That's when we found the path out again."

I stared at her. "That's it? What appointment was serious enough to make them let you go?"

Professor Book grinned. "I meet with the Wyrm beneath the Old English Building once a week. If I don't go down, it comes out looking for me. Or so it's promised to do."

You ever have that moment where you realize that someone who looks unassuming is actually really dangerous? When you look beyond their friendly smiles and laid-back attitude and see that there's someone hard as steel and sharp as a knife deep inside? That's suddenly the feeling I had, staring at Professor Book in her office.

"Was that all, Marbles, or did you have anything else you wanted to know?"

There was lots more I wanted to know. But I had the feeling that it wasn't really _safe_ to know anything else. A little knowledge was a dangerous thing, but a lot of it could be positively lethal. How much more could I reasonably ask before it attracted attention?

"Just one more thing," I asked. "Why did you tell me all this?"

The grin melted from her face, replaced with a serious expression. "Because this campus is dangerous," she said. "It's full of rules and magic and things that want to hurt you. It will tear you apart if you're not careful. But the only way to protect you — and the other students — from it is to give you the tools you need to keep yourselves safe. I told you all this because I want you to take that knowledge and share it with others. I want this whole student body to be shielded by iron and salt and rowan until the Gentry can't lay a hand on any of you. So the price of this information is to share the protection it offers. Keep your safeguards close, watch out for one another, and make no deals with Gentry."

I felt like she'd laid a charge on me, a solemn duty I should swear to uphold. "I'll do what I can," I said.

She nodded. "That's all I can ask of anyone," she said softly. "Best get going now. You'll want to be back in your dorm before it gets close to sundown."

"Yes, Professor." I rose from my chair on slightly-shaky legs. "See you in class."

"Goodnight, Marbles. Walk safely."

On my way back to the dorms, I thought about everything the Professor had said. I thought of friends in the Art Department, or the English Department, or the Theatre Department, who would benefit from the information Professor Book had. Our course loads didn't allow for too much extra-departmental classes, so telling everyone to take a class with the Professor wouldn't work. Neither would telling them to go to her office hours for a random chat. And if she wasn't going to be allowed to do her contracts again, she was going to lose any power she had to challenge the Gentry who took her students. It's not like she could protect everyone she came into contract with.

But...

If she was a club advisor, coming into contact with lots of students that had to sign up for it? That might have some potential.

I grinned to myself. Maybe the error that had put me in Professor Book's class wasn't an error at all. Maybe it was just an opportunity to help her protect lots of other people. And with Rosie's and Jagger's and Garnet's help, I had no doubt I could draft a club charter with some hidden protections in place — protections that would make sure Professor Book stayed safe, too.

Let's just hope the Gentry don't read fine print.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this story! Next few will hopefully be a series of shorter one-shots.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments!


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